CHAPTER XXVII
THE END OF THE AFFAIR
In a moment the two men had taken in the scene, and Von Tressen strode quickly towards Zarka. “You ruffian!” he cried. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Stand away!” was the Count’s defiant reply. “This lady is my wife, and you interfere at your peril.”
“It is a lie!” Philippa gasped, recovering from her half faint, and struggling to free herself from Zarka’s grasp. “This man is a villain. I have been lured to this place by a trick. Osbert, I hate and loathe the man. I am not his wife; I would rather die than marry him. Will you not——?”
Before she could say more, Von Tressen’s arm was round her, and his disengaged hand dealt the Count a blow such as he had never felt before, a square, well-placed hit, worthy of an Englishman, which broke his hold of Philippa and sent him staggering back, falling over the chairs ranged behind him.
He recovered himself quickly and, facing them, white with rage and pain, seemed to be meditating a rush. But he thought better of it, seeing that the odds were against him. Von Tressen and Galabin supported Philippa to a seat, where she sank down overcome by fear and excitement.
In the few seconds this occupied Zarka had regained the mastery over himself and a certain amount of composure.
“You will answer for this outrage, Lieutenant Von Tressen,” he said, speaking in a loud harsh voice. “It is you who are the ruffian; this is my private chapel in which you are brawling, and that lady is my wife.”
“I think not,” Von Tressen returned quietly.
“I have witnesses to prove it,” cried Zarka.